One by One
by MetallicHawk
Summary: His brother left first, then his sister. After his old life seems to disappear, Tàmhas is driven to a forlorn land in a search for his siblings. Or maybe that is what he it just telling himself...


Heyo! I am a huge fan of Dark Souls and Ive always been meaning to write a fan-fiction for it :D

In this story I'm gonna focus allot on expanding the lore and adding my own bits in, because there are allot of stories out there on fan-fiction that simply follow the main story line and are a-bit... boring XD (Dark Souls fan-fiction is actually pretty good in the originality department!)

Anywoo, this is just a small introduction of sorts, so enjoy! (I know its kinda rubbish, but I have better ideas that i want to put in later chapters sooooooo... yeah)

* * *

It's only when you leave home, taste that adventure you so crave, you remember your home, and wish for the quiet life.

How right my farther was.

My name was Tàmhas. I no longer have one. Its just one of those curiosities of Drangleic that eventually you lost your name. Then your memories. Then your very humanity, becoming an empty shell, a burnt husk.

I came from a land to the very far north of Mirrah, where we lived in small villages upon the jagged, snowy peaks. The people of the city call our land _Mhàrr, the land for the savages. _But we are a strong, proud race of people who have a noble heritage of skilled warriors and craftsmen, no matter what those above us may think. Our settlement went by the name _Tòrr Fionn_, a small village situated on the edge of a great, icy lake. We mainly lived off hunting the wildlife and supplying timber to the greater lands, such as Volgen. It was a very simple way of life but to others it seemed like almost a dream. Spend your days fishing on crystal lakes, feed of the finest venison and sleep under the quiet, star ridden sky . This was the romanticised version. In reality life was punishing to say the very least. Bitter blizzards constantly ravaged the landscape and it wasn't unusual to find some poor city soul who had been caught in one of the mountain's completely random snow storms. The snow also covered your tracks so impeccable tracking skills were a must. Milling was a labours and taxing task, and the wildlife we did manage to find for hunting was never the friendly kind. While the harsh climate and lifestyle brought us up to be rugged around the edges, it also bonded us tightly together as a community. We cared deeply for each other and our surroundings and took pride in all that we had accomplished. I guess I didn't realise just how much I had back then.

But me... I was a nobody. Everyone seemed to have certain defining qualities about them. Everyone had something they were good at, hell even bad at, but not me. Even my appearance was generic and un-noteworthy. My mother was disatifiyed with me and saw me nothing more than a failure of a son. I guess after two children who are practically considered geniuses , you kind of set your expectations astronomically high for the third. My father on the other hand... I still don't quite understand, but the less ambitious and adventurous I was the happier he seemed to be with me. There might have been a reason for it. I suppose I know why now.

My older brother, Teàrlach, from a young age was fascinated by blades. It was his goal to travel the lands to hone his skills and master every sword he came across. He grew so attached to his weaponry and spent every moment of his spare time caring for them. He even named his scimitars. Once I accidentally knocked one of his daggers off the shelf in his bedroom when I was trying to pinch some of his coins...and, well... he showed me the severity of what I did. You did not want to mess with my brother, unless you wanted your limbs detached. Sìleas was no exception. She was the oldest out of us three and had a staggering talent for pyromancy. When she was just 12 she had mastered our peoples' ancient form of sorcery, manipulating ice, as well as mastering pyromancy and hexing. But she took it a step further. She was never really taken by either sorcery nor hexing, so she created her own form of pyromancy. I don't know how to full describe it, but its like she freezes the flames and large shards of ice would protrude from her form. She then combined this with fist-fighting to become the pride of our small village. As you can imagine, such events attracted her much attention, especially from the Magic Academy in Melfia_. _I remember her frequently travelling to the cites, demonstrating her genius.

I looked up to my siblings with the greatest admiration, respect and... jealousy. They were, to me, perfect in every respect. How I longed to be like them. Loyal to their people, selfless, brave and actually quite attractive. They where finally bringing the respect my people deserved. It sounded like the perfect life, and they never look down on me... To even to see what life was like outside of the icy mountains and the imposing, dark trees was a constant dream of mine. I remember as a child I would hear stories of the bustling city of Volgen_, _where the buildings seemed to pierce the sky and every street bustled with trade. I remember being told of the famous Falconers. Both of them knew what the outside lands where like. They both just seemed to be brimming with talent. But they always came home, they knew it was where they truly belonged, much to the delight of my father. They both took his advice to heart. I don't know why they did come home. If I had gotten the chance back then I would of wandered the world and never looked back.

At first it was only the fully hollowed that where taken away to the asylums. Those who were close to hollowing or struggling to cope were taken to temples to get help and were looked after. But as time went by things got more and more desperate. More bloody. Mysterious disappearances stared to become the norm, and even hushed rumours of mass executions. Even we did not dare to speak out against them, as far north as we were, we were still under the rule of Mirrah and doing so was considered treason.

But still my father was stubborn and knew the difference between right and wrong, between beheading a few hollows and feeding...

* * *

Tàmhas jumped out of his daydream as the cart shook dangerously as it continued its clamber up a hill. As he looked around at the decaying faces of his fellow passengers, he knew why he kept replaying his life over and over and over in his head. He didn't want to end up like the rest of them. He didn't want to forget. There must of been around twenty other people there, squashed on that cart. All looking downcast at nothing in particular, the small flicker of life that was once in their eyes had long faded as they traveled from place to place in a kind of search.

In search of what?

A cure? A home? Many of them had long since forgotten why they even came to such a decaying land. There seemed to be no point anymore. It had been weeks since they had seen any another healthy undead, but those weeks could of easily been months as time started to have little significance to anyone. There had been a string of suicides amongst their band of travellers and whole families would leap of the sides of cliffs together, in hopes of escaping this madness that they where forever trapped in. But here there was no escape. There was no end. Death meant only one step closer to hollowing.

Next, they were headed to a supposed settlement called Majula, a legend-like place where '_Life was almost normal'. _But they'd all heard that before and none expected it to be anything more that a few burnt shacks.

Some soul in the rickety cart began to weep, clasping their hands together and wailed praises and pleas to Evlana, Goddess of the Hunt. Probably begging to see the sunrise. Tàmhas lowered his head in respect. His family were loyal worshipers of Evlana and relied on this worship to put food on the table. He closed his eyes and tried to squeeze out a prayer, but something was eating away at his chest and clawing at his heart. Dark, longing and extremely twisted thoughts crept at the back of his head and forced themselves into his mind. He began to shake, reaching into a pocket of his ragged robe and grasping a smooth carved object with his bony fingers. The only thing he believed made him unique. He knew he shouldn't. It was wrong and disgusting of him to even think of...

"Quiet back there! You want to get us killed?" The diver hissed back to the man, and snapped Tàmhas away from his trail of thought. Probably for the best. The hunched figure let out a little whimper and buried their head in their lap, still muttering prayers.

"Oh look who has returned to us from the land of sleep." Everyone turned to glare at Tàmhas

"I wish I could still dream..." There were grunts of agreement.

Even in this forlorn world he was still an outcast. He was lying to himself earlier when he said he no longer had a name. He did. As soon as someone saw his face they knew what to call him.

"I would watch your back. Who knows what your soul might do... Might just be enough to cure someone... _Alive One_..."

Tàmhas, was alive.

* * *

Oh, just to clarify, when I mean _alive _I mean not undead, cursed, hollowed ect.

Also it is not going to be one of those stories where ,Tàmhas discovers he has 'secret unknown abilities/ mystic powers' because of some prophecy thing. He has literally not outstanding qualities. That is the point. His siblings may seem pretty 'marry sue', but it is his muddled memories remember... so who knows?

Words like _Mhàrr _and_ _Tòrr Fionn __are Scottish Gallic because... they sound cool? Naw just kidding, I thought that there MUST be more than one language or dialect in the world of Dark Souls and wanted to make the names unique from all the other cities and regions. But it would be nice if ya could tell me if you think the names sound too out of place. :D


End file.
